Why now?

I was ambushed on my 40th birthday last year. Instead of a lovely gift, 13lb of spare tyre and love handle parachuted in sneakily and set up camp around my middle.

'You are now 15 stone. Happy Birthday Tubster!' read the card.

Up till then the flab assault had been a bit more gradual and, while I knew it was happening, I was frankly 'doing an ostrich'.

From time to time I'd rally and have a stab at a new diet plan. The F2 (the windy diet!), Low-carb (death by steak) and a handful of others. Sure, they all did what they said on the tin, but nothing was sustainable – for me. I'd lose a few pounds, get bored or depressed with the effort of it all and eventually chuck it in.

'Oh well, I guess it's just in my genes,' I'd moan, as another chocolate cake hopped into my shopping basket. All the while, though, the certain knowledge that the elves would eventually launch a midnight fat-raid and I'd wake up slim and gorgeous kept me sane.

Fortunately, two weeks ago, Inner Goddess intervened. And uh-oh, she was wearing her Wonder Woman outfit so I KNEW she meant business.

'Don't know about it being in your genes, dear, but it's certainly in your jeans. Look at you - you're going to burst and the blast is gonna wipe out entire continents. Not even Morgan Freeman will be able to save us. For the last time, there is no delta force of fat stealing elves SO GET A GRIP!'

It was a cruel blow.

'Bbbbut the fresh deserts counter is always going to sing to me like a Siren, I'm never going to love the gym and I have the attention span of a gnat when it comes to dieting. How will I ever succeed?' I simpered.

'You will dig deep young woman!' boomed IG, whirling around scarily in her stars and stripes pants and lassoing me into submission. 'HENCEFORTH YOU WILL QUIT YOUR EXCUSES, START A HEALTHY EATING PROGRAMME, MOVE YOUR LARDY BUM OFF THAT SOFA… AND YOU WILL BLOG EVERY WEEKDAY UNTIL YOU ARE SLIM, GOT THAT????'

'Yes, ok, I will, promise, yup, made your point. I'll do anything you say, just please remove your lasso - it's burning my bingo wings.'

That's why!

I'm sick, tired, and fed up of the spare tyres, the aching back and the fitting room rage. So....THIS IS IT! (apologies, Michael Jackson). Let the weight loss commence.

This morning after a year's absence, I hopped onto the scales. After cleaning my glasses to make sure I was seeing the numbers clearly, shaking the scales vigorously and double checking the batteries (just in case) I have to accept that I AM 15st 13lb.

As I jumped off, I'm sure I even heard them laugh at me.

Well I'm not laughing. I'm 40 and I've spent a decade talking with my (also tubby) best friend about how great it will be 'when we lose weight'. Since then, we've probably both fit every size ranging from a 12 to a 20, experiencing the joy of the slim times and passing each other the cake in commiseration during the tubby times.

Well, THIS IS IT. Yes, really. This blog is my journey. First target? 1 stone in 6 weeks.

I am slimma, hear me ROAR!